The Fan Letter (8 page)

“Can you believe it, Marty? He said he wouldn't go with us to Japan!”

Marty looked disgusted. “Why in the world did you even ask him to go? He'd just be in the way. Who wants some out-of-work actor hanging around? All you need is me. Am I right?” he asked, putting a familiar hand on her shoulder.

Sarah sniffed. “He isn't out of work and you know it. It isn't great work, but its work. It's just….” She broke off, unsure of voicing her fear.

The hand on her shoulder moved so it now encircled her small waist. “Come on, you can tell me. You always tell me everything.”

Sarah lowered her voice even though there was no one else around. “It's these letters Phillip has been getting. You know, fan letters from one woman. Apparently he has replied to at least two and…well, I'm worried.”

Marty smirked to himself. “So, the old man has a devoted follower. ‘Oh, Phillip’,” he joked in a squeaky, high voice. “‘You are the greatest actor in the whole wide world’.”

Sarah rolled her eyes and pulled away from him a step. “Oh, stop it,” she almost smiled. “They weren't like that. Well, not yet, anyway. You know how dangerous outsiders can get. We don't know anything about this little person he calls ‘Bunny’,” she almost spat out the nickname.

Her agent studied her face. This was getting more and more interesting. “Are you worried or jealous?”

Her face jerked towards him, her blue eyes flashing. “Jealous?” she demanded with a questionable laugh. “Oh. Right…. I don't want some demented lunatic at my front door! Do you know he sent her our address! We might as well hang a sign out front that reads ‘Sarah Beck lives here. Harass us’.”

Marty still smirked. “So you want Phillip to tag along with us to Japan. To protect him, right?” he asked.

Sarah turned and strode to her white Jaguar. “Fine, Marty, make jokes. We don't know anything about this…this little ‘Bunny’ person,” as she slammed the door shut.

Marty tapped on her passenger window until she lowered it. Leaning in, he cocked his head. “Do you want to find out about her? There are ways, you know,” he said in a low voice.

She frowned and was silent for a moment as she studied the sly look on his face. “I didn't say I wanted her knocked off, Marty. I just want her to keep away from my husband. Some of the things she said bothered me.”

Marty motioned for her to lean closer. He gave her a quick kiss on her cheek. “Don't worry. I'll have a friend of mine stop over to see you. When is Grandpa Beck going to be gone?”

“He's taking Davey to Majestic Wednesday around ten o'clock to see Uncle Eddie.”

Marty stood away from the car. “Good. A Mr. Fields will be over at eleven. Try to look pretty for him.”

Sarah flashed him a brilliant smile. “I always look pretty,” she shot back as she slammed the car into gear and sped away.

W
hen Sarah returned home, she surprised Phillip by putting her arms around him and kissing him on the lips. “I'm sorry for what I said earlier,” she explained. “I know your career is important. I shouldn't have asked you to renege on your contracts.”

“You're in a good mood,” he carefully observed as he returned the caress. “I take it the passport is no longer a problem?”

She pulled away and headed for her study, smiling. “Oh, yes. That, too.”

T
he doorbell rang at exactly eleven on Wednesday morning. Sarah opened the door to see an average man of average height, brown eyes, brown hair, average build, who appeared to be around the same age as Marty—thirty. There was nothing outstanding about his appearance. He looked like the average guy in average guy clothes. Only his eyes showed something different, something extraordinary within. They were intense and observant, always moving, always appraising. Eyes that would miss nothing. Those eyes now darted quickly over the beautiful model and then moved on to appraise the inside of their house.

Sarah smiled to herself as she motioned him to enter.
This man would do just fine
, she told herself as she led him into her study.

After his silent assessment of her room, he broke the silence with a quiet voice. “So, Mrs. Beck, who do you want me to blow away?”

At her startled, white-faced gasp, he chuckled, revealing even, white teeth. “Sorry. Just a little private investigator humor,” he smiled.

“Very little,” Sarah replied dryly as her heartbeat returned to normal. “I just want this Leslie person checked out to see whether or not she's harmless. Here are all the letters we have received,” handing him copies of the letters. “In three weeks my son and I leave for Japan….”

“You will actually be gone for at least five weeks,” he broke in, studying her face. “During that time Mr. Beck will be filming a new movie and probably signing for another. Did I miss anything?”

Sarah did another appraisal and smiled back. “You do your work well, Mr. Fields.”

“Call me Wayne and don't try flattering me. I read the trade papers like everyone else. Plus, Marty filled me in on a little of the details. I'd like some time to read these,” Wayne told her, indicating the letters.

“Now?” She had stood to show him to the door.

“You want me to leave? I was told I would have two hours.”

“Oh. I thought you would take the copies and read them later.”

Wayne shrugged. “Once I read them, if there are any specifics you want to go over, then would be the time.”

“Oh,” she repeated. This was all new territory for her. “I see. Would you like some coffee, Wayne?”

He settled back on her white leather sofa. “Naw. I'm fine. Give me an hour.” She was dismissed.

In thirty minutes Wayne was through with the letters. He combined what he had read with what Marty had told him. Grinning as he strolled along the white paneled walls of her study, he looked over the pictures of Sarah that filled the wall. This would be the easiest fee he had ever collected. How long should he drag it out? Two weeks? Three? Or should he have to send her reports over to Japan? Yeah, that would be a nice touch.

Wayne Field was making notations of the copies of the letters when Sarah knocked. She looked anxious and determined.

“Well?” she demanded as she sat behind her desk, trying to take back control of the situation. “Do you see now why I want to hire you?”

Wayne smiled to himself. “Yes, I know exactly why you want to hire me. Are you prepared for what I might uncover?” he queried, leaning forward, hands on his knees. “Have you considered what steps you might have to take?”

Sarah nodded. “You mean legal steps like police protection or restraining orders?”

This Leslie was already tried and condemned in Sarah's mind, Wayne thought.
Three weeks
, he decided. “That could be necessary in the most severe scenario. But the possibility exists that my investigation will reveal nothing of dangerous intent. Have you considered that?”

Sarah now looked annoyed. “I assumed you read the letters and weren't in here taking a nap. Am I the only one who can see this problem?” she demanded. “If you don't want the job, Mr. Fields, I'm sure there is another investigator who would.”

“Oh, I'll take the assignment, Mrs. Beck,” he countered as their relationship became all business. “These profiles can take time.” After mentally doubling it, he wrote down a figure on a piece of paper. “This is my daily fee.”

She didn't even look at it. “Fine. I'll want weekly reports while I'm gone. Marty will give you the phone numbers and addresses.”

“When do you want me to start, Mrs. Beck?”

“Why, immediately, of course. I want to know everything about this woman before I leave. If she gets anywhere near an airplane, I want to know and I want the proper authorities alerted. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Fields?” Sarah demanded quietly, her blue eyes flashing. “I don't want her near my house!”

Wayne regarded her coolly. “Oh, I understand you perfectly.” His eyes strayed to a photo near her head. It was a shot of Phillip and Sarah apparently on some vacation years ago. They looked relaxed and happy. “Say, Mrs. Beck? Are you sure there isn't anything else you'd like watched while you're gone?”

His question confused her. She followed his eyes to the picture on the wall. Her tone was icy. “You read too many tabloids.”

Wayne returned her look. “I don't read them, lady. I write them.”

“Well, you're out of line, Mr. Fields. I trust my husband implicitly. How else would I be able to go off and leave him for weeks at a time?”

“Fine. You trust him. I'll turn in my reports. All right? I'll keep these copies with me. I assume the originals are in their proper place?” At her curt nod, he stood to go. “I also assume you know not to report our little conversation to Mr. Beck. Have a pleasant trip.”

“Same to you, Mr. Fields. Enjoy Amherst,” she said from her desk with a cutting laugh, viciously tearing his retainer check out of her private account book.

“One last question, Mrs. Beck. Where the heck is Amherst?”

T
hat evening, two men sat together in a posh nightclub having a drink.

“Man, Marty, you should have seen the look in those blue eyes of hers when she talked about the Evil One of Amherst!” Wayne was snickering.

Marty finished his bourbon and signaled for another. “I did. Last week. Gave me the willies,” he shuddered. “It came out of the blue, too. This Leslie chick sent her story to Beck, I don't know, eight, nine months ago. Now, all of a sudden, boom!, Sarah is calling out the artillery,” he gestured with his empty glass.

Wayne thought a moment. “How do you figure Phillip in all of this?”

Marty chuckled dryly. “The old man? He's probably flattered. He's forty and still a nobody. I doubt he's noticed anything different with Sarah. His mind is pretty one-tracked. I do wish Sarah would give in and leave the brat home, though.”

“How do you stand being around them all the time? You didn't like women like that when we were in college.”

Marty took a sip from his new drink and shook his head. “No, no. Women like that didn't like me when we were in college,” he corrected. “Now, make them a famous millionaire, plaster their face over everything, and they're friends for life. It's a dirty job but someone has to do it,” he sighed and then grinned, raising his drink to Fields in a mock salute.

Wayne made circles on the table with his glass. “Say, Marty, why are
you
going to Japan? Sarah's pretty sharp on her own. I've never heard of an agent tagging along. A posse, maybe, but not an agent.”

The look on Marty's face was pure innocence. “Gosh, Wayne, you first have to convince them they can't do a thing without you. Then you sit back and enjoy the fringe benefits.”

“Hmph,” Wayne groused. “Fringe benefits. You get to go to Japan with one the most beautiful women in the world and I'm heading for Amherst to check out some plain, brown-haired store clerk.”

“Where exactly is Amherst? Do you know?”

“Within driving distance of Rancho Blanco.”

“Well, Wayne, that really clears it up. Thanks. Probably some one-horse town out in the sticks.”

The investigator thought back to the letters he had read. “I don't know. Leslie didn't sound like a hick. She must have something on the ball if her work is seriously being considered.”

“Yeah—if,” Marty stressed. “You don't really know what you'll find.”

Wayne just shrugged, unconcerned really. For what he was being paid he would agree to be staked out naked on an anthill. “I've got to pack. And find a map,” he grinned as he stood to leave.

“One thing, Wayne,” his friend said, stopping him. “I don't want my little lady upset while we're in Japan. You do your job however. Just tell her what she wants to hear while she's gone. She
wants
to hear that this person is a threat. If she doesn't get that from your reports, she will get tense. And a tense Sarah doesn't make for a very compatible traveling companion. I want her compatible. Agreed?”

“I'm way ahead of you, pard. The Evil One of Amherst will come through for both of us. Rest easy.”

W
ayne stepped back from his cluttered bed and took inventory. “Okay, figure five weeks tops. Shirts, slacks, socks, towels, tape recorder, camera, long-range microphone, addresses, phone numbers, sheets, silverware, blank tapes, film, bugs, swimsuit. Wonder if I'll need more than one good suit. Might as well. I'm taking everything else,” he grumbled to himself.

The clothes were more or less crammed into suitcases. The surveillance equipment was handled with more care as it was packed into customized black bags to be stowed carefully in the back of the trunk of his nondescript car. The household items and then the suitcases were placed in the front of the trunk. He'd throw the bedding in the back seat in the morning.

He rechecked the map of California to trace the route he would drive. Six hours and he would be in Amherst. Middle of the San Joaquin Valley. Farmers. Ninety miles from the state capitol. Ninety miles from the coast. Ninety miles from Yosemite. Ninety miles in the middle of nowhere. If it weren't for the incredible amount of money he was going to make, he'd tell that neurotic model to take a flying leap.

Wayne already had a motel reservation for the first night or two. That way he would have time to get a bearing on the town, locate Leslie's address, secure his own apartment nearby, and arrange with a furniture rental store for the basic necessities. He had done this so many times before that it was second nature to him. His landlady knew when she saw those mysterious black bags go into his trunk that he would be gone for some time and she would collect his mail. Her monthly bonus assured that she would ask no questions or give out any answers.

After resetting his answering machine, he went to bed and wondered, as he fell asleep, what it was like in Japan.